Tuesday, January 27, 2015

"Don't be one of those who give God everything but one little corner of their heart, on which they put up a notice board with the inscription: 'trespassers not allowed." (Father William Doyle)

This quote is making me wonder.

I try to give God every part of my heart, truly I do. Daily I do.

But are there any little corners I might have closed off to Him? "You can have this and this, Lord... but... maybe not that." I don't say it, of course. Not in words.

Yet I ask myself. Am I determined to manage some area(s) of my life the way I want? Am I even a bit fearful to turn any particular something over to God, lest He arrange things in a way I may not prefer?

Am I feeling pretty good about having given, maybe, ninety percent of myself to Him - perhaps even patting myself on the back for being so generous, while I cling fiercely to the rest?

If so (and I reluctantly admit that in my case, this IS so), I think perhaps Our Lord is patting my back too, accepting my gift with love. But He doesn't stop there. I cannot imagine Him "patting my back" without then slipping His arm around me, asking me to invite Him into that corner, encouraging me to let Him take care of anything I've kept away from His love. "Trust Me," I can almost hear Him saying, and I know this is not an imaginary exercise at all.

His plea for my trust is very real.

With His grace, day by day and step by step, I can let Him come inside the wall.

Here I stand, knocking at the door. If anyone hears Me calling and
opens the door, I will enter his house and have supper with Him, and he
with Me.” (Revelation 3:20)

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Today the Church celebrates the feast of St. Francis de Sales. If there were a list of 'cloistered heart patrons' (and from my point of view, there is), this saint and Doctor of the Church would be (is) at the top.

Although he lived in the 1600s, St. Francis continues to
teach much about the 'cloister' in which I'm privileged to find
myself. Francis lived and wrote in an age when intense devotion to
Christ was considered appropriate for those in cloisters, but not so
much for persons in the world. This gentle bishop taught otherwise, and he has left a rich legacy for those of us who want to live
totally for God, whatever our state in life. Letters he wrote to his spiritual
directees help direct my own life 400 years later.

St. Francis de Sales
is patron of Catholic writers, patron of the deaf, and founder of the Visitation Order. I continue to ask that he pray for us as well.

I think of him as a very dear friend.

'Almost
all those who have hitherto written about devotion have been concerned
with instructing persons wholly withdrawn from the world…. My purpose
is to instruct those who live in town, within families, or at court,
and by their state of life are obliged to live an ordinary life as to
outward appearances.' (St. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life).

'It is
an error, or rather a heresy, to wish to banish the devout life from
the regiment of soldiers, the mechanic’s shop, the court of princes, or
the home of married people.' (Introduction to the Devout Life).

'A
strong, resolute soul can live in the world without being infected by
any of its moods, find sweet springs of piety amid its salty waves, and
fly through the flames of earthly lusts without burning the wings of
its holy desires for a devout life. True, this is a difficult task,
and therefore I wish that many souls would strive to accomplish it with
greater ardor than has hitherto been shown.' (Introduction to the Devout Life).

'Always
remember… to retire at various times into the solitude of your own
heart even while outwardly engaged in discussions or transactions with
others. This mental solitude cannot be violated by the many people who
surround you since they are not standing around your heart but only
around your body. Your heart remains alone in the presence of God.' (Introduction to the Devout Life).

Friday, January 23, 2015

'A quiet hidden life is not possible for you in one way,
and yet perfectly so in another
by building a solitude in your heart
where you can ever live alone with Jesus,
letting the noise and worry of life,
cares and anxieties of the world,
pass over your head, like a storm
which will never ruffle the peace of your soul.
You will enjoy perfect calm and peace of soul,
the requisite condition for a life of union,
by keeping Jesus ever with you as a Friend,
and remembering that everything happens by His permission and is in fact His work.
Let this principle soak in and it will make you a saint. Apply it to every detail of your life,
and you will not be far from what you seek.'

Fr William Doyle SJ (special thanks to the generous commenter who shared this quote) Public domain photo

Thursday, January 22, 2015

My "snapshot" this time is several years old. It's a moment from our archives, a tender memory from 2012. It is, however, more than a memory. By the grace of God, I keep on holding, keep on loving, keep on swaddling with prayer.....

"As my lectio drew to a close this morning," I wrote in 2012, "something happened.

I felt a desire to hold a tiny, tiny newborn. Being well beyond the age
of giving birth myself, I attributed this longing to the fact that my
youngest grandchild is now two. And yes, I think that's part of it.

But it hit me: this 'call to hold' may well be a nudge from God. I
think it is a spiritual call, not a physical one.. and certainly it's in
line with the call each of us has (to some degree or other) to pray for
and help those in need.

So today I am saying yes, as an act of faith, and I'm 'spiritually
adopting.' There are so many little ones in imminent danger, ones so
tiny that some dismiss them as not human. There are infants whose
parents have been told 'there might be something wrong with the fetus.
Our advice is to abort.' There are newborns lying on cold metal tables,
their skin burned with saline, ignored because their mothers, after
all, did not want to carry them to term. Leave it alone, a nurse is
told, forget it. It's not a baby.

Not-A-Baby utters a pitiful cry, flails its little arms, reaches out
with tiny fingers to grasp its gift of life. It IS a baby - a tiny,
helpless, wounded baby who needs someone to care, to love, to hold.

Perhaps I am adopting all of them, perhaps there is someone(s) specific,
but today I hold out my 'arms.' I pray for mothers, fathers,
grandparents, doctors, government leaders, voters, nurses,
abortionists. I pray for the parents who have just been told their
unborn child has an abnormality. I pray for the
unmarried teenager, and her boyfriend, and her frantic parents. I pray
for a change in laws, I pray for a change in hearts.

I swaddle in prayer. I cuddle with intercession. I hold a tiny one in
my heart, and I say yes. I will work for you, O tiny one, I'll be your
advocate however I can. And when they come for you to take your life, I
will be at your side in prayer...

'The mere probability that a human person is involved would suffice
to justify an absolutely clear prohibition of any intervention aimed at
killing a human embryo.' Pope John Paul II (Evangelium Vitae)

Saturday, January 17, 2015

'The person going into full
physical enclosure,' I wrote some years ago, 'has a certain advantage. Grillwork is planted firmly in her walls.Once she enters the cloister, her entire outer environment is
suddenly changed.

I, however, make the decision to cloister my heart, and the walls around my body are
just the same as they were before the decision was made.

So mine is a challenging enclosure, and while I do not say
it's any more difficult (certainly) than physically cloistered life, I do say it
presents challenges. I get up in the morning and am not automatically reminded by my surroundings of the choice I've
made to live for God. I see the same people and find no
grillwork before them, so I must be reminded to relate to them as God asks me to do.'

A person with perfect vision pops out of bed each day and sees across the room with no problem. For some of us, this is not the case. I, for instance, inherited nearsightedness from my father. In order to see the world around me, I must begin my day by grabbing my glasses and placing them before my eyes.

Having inherited original sin from my earliest father, I cannot see life correctly without help. In order to see through the 'grillwork' of Scripture and authentic Church teaching, I must know this 'grillwork' and I must practice living 'through' it.God has given the perfect prescription for seeing clearly. But in order for the clarity to happen, I must accept the prescription, use it, and keep it ever before my eyes. I need to grab the Bible, every day. I need to grab it and hold onto it for dear, eternal life.

'The natural man does not accept what is taught by the Spirit of God. For him, that is absurdity. He cannot come to know such teaching because it must be appraised in a spiritual way.' (1 Corinthians 2:14)

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

I want to write a post here today. A "snapshot" of what's happening in my cloister right now. But oh, I feel so lazy. Tired, mentally sluggish, and very, very lazy.

Which IS (when I think of it) a snapshot of what's happening in my cloister right now.

I just saw a thumbnail picture of one of our earlier garden posts, and thought "I could write about gardens!" My enthusiasm for that lasted about nine seconds.

The truth is: I feel lifeless today. Lifeless about writing, lifeless about praying, lifeless about thinking. My tiny burst of enthusiasm seems to have popped out, had a quick look around, and rushed back underground. The "cloister garden" feels bare, unproductive, stark.

Turning my attention to the window beside me, I see that I am surrounded by sticks. Skinny bare branches reach halfway up the glass. In summer we call that clump of dark gray lines a "bush." Today it seems a strange word for what I see before me, a lush green word from an unknown foreign tongue.

If I had not experienced seasons, if I hadn't watched this bush drop leaves and wither every autumn,
and then burst forth with tender shoots each spring, I cannot imagine holding hope of green ... ever again.

But green is there. Life is there. Somewhere deep inside, safe from ice encrusted winter, life is there. Dormant, huddled, swaddled life. Plants need their seasons of dormancy as much as they need the warmth
and sunlight of summer. When they seem totally barren, the sticks outside my window are in fact protecting life.

The appearance of lifelessness is far from the
truth.

"O my Lord, I am in a dry land, all dried up and cracked by the violence of the north wind and the cold; but as You can see, I ask for nothing more. You will send me both dew and warmth when it pleases You." (St. Jane de Chantal)

Thursday, January 8, 2015

We've said the following here many times, and now we'll go for many plus one:The grille is a powerful symbol. In the cloistered heart way of life I’m describing, it is the important symbol. It is a place of separation and, just as
importantly, it is a place of encounter. It is only through the grille
that some cloistered individuals connect
with the world.

Every human being
has been given, by God, a way to connect with the world. A way to see
situations correctly; a way to interact with others appropriately.

God invites each one of us to view and respond to every person and every circumstance through His will.

We do not have to guess what that will is. God has revealed it to us. Scripture and the authentic teachings of the Church make up the bars of our grille.One exercise that I've found helpful over the years is to write scriptures on pictures of grillwork, or sometimes on pieces of plain cardboard on which I've drawn a simple 'grid' of squares. I have gone so far as to cut out the holes on some of these. It's a simple little 'craft,' but it does help drive the point home for me. I am not so good at remembering to see and respond to people and circumstances 'through the grille,' so I benefit from a stream of tangible reminders. The important thing, of course, is to become familiar with my 'grillwork.' I have a number of Bibles in my home - do I read them? Do I spend time in prayer with Scripture? Do I allow the Word of God to form my mind and heart, so I can interact with the world as I am called to do?

As I have been writing this, I've been constantly reminded of a television commercial (I think for insurance) in which someone asks about the contents of our wallets. The contents of our minds are obviously of much more importance. 'Do not conform yourselves to this age
but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, so that you may judge
what is God's will, what is good, pleasing and perfect.' (Romans 12:0). It is a vital bar of our grille.

The grillwork of God's Word to us is perfect, made-for-us-insurance when we face the world around us.What's on YOUR grille?

Monday, January 5, 2015

Before Advent, I began looking (here) into our calls to be heroes of the faith in our everyday lives.

Little you and little me: heroes of the faith.

Imagine.

Throughout history, there have been those who actually could imagine such possibilities. St. Therese, the little flower who practiced a very little way, wrote "already God sees us in glory and takes joy in our eternal beatitude. How this thought helps my soul!"

This thought helps my soul too, as does the realization that Therese was not always a great saint. From most accounts, she was a willful little girl given to occasional tantrums. But of course, that was in her youth. What about those of us who carried our willfulness and rebellion all the way into adulthood? Is there any hope for us?

There was hope for a man named Augustine, even as he was pleading "Lord, make me chaste - but not yet!" Anyone who heard him say these words would be unlikely to think "now, that is a saint."

But there was hope. There is always hope.

"To him who still remains in this world, no repentance is too late. The approach to God's mercy is open." (St.Cyprian)

"In the moment of temptation think of the Love that awaits you in heaven: foster the virtue of hope." (St. Josemaria Escriva)

We are all called to be with God in heaven, for all eternity. We are invited to begin (or to begin anew), answering that call at this very moment. We were created to be more than just nice people, more than folks who are fun to be around.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

I am terrified. I stare at a blank computer screen and wait for words to appear. But they don't.

I've made a commitment. I have said I'd be sharing occasional "snapshots" of my life TODAY as a cloistered heart; snippets of my ongoing struggles to remain "cloistered" in the midst of this world, this family, this year, this age of the world and the Church and (oh dear) of me. Yes, I'm terrified. The screen sits here so. Blank.

What if the words are gone. I mean, it's as if I can't find them. Is it because I'm no longer just scribbling private scratches in hidden-away journals, as I did years ago, unaware that one day those would tumble out in print for other eyes to see?

Now I know you are right there, on the other side of the screen - and oh, I'm so grateful! I am truly grateful. You hear, you echo, and we let each other know, now and then, that we're not alone in being bent upon living for God right in the midst of the world. And even though the painting on this post is not actually of someone gazing at a computer screen, couldn't it be ......us? In my case, with no jewels. And with a striped blouse and gray sweater (I knew you'd want to know that). But I digress....

To be bent on something, say the dictionaries, is to be resolute, extremely determined, characterized by firmness, and unshakeable.

Am I bent upon living for God? It is a good question as this new year begins.

And I think I will leave this post at that, just with that question. I do want to live a good life, a moral life, a life of concern for others. But am I, at this moment in time, utterly bent upon living for God?

I will spend time today prayerfully pondering. Jesus is with me, and He is mercy, so I shall not fear my own answer.

THE CLOISTERED HEART IS a way of living for God in the midst of the world. It is heart monasticism that can be embraced by married or single persons, religious or lay. It's an analogy in which our lives can be "monasteries," our hearts can live in the "enclosure" of Christ, and all things may be viewed through the will of God as through a "grille."